


Never Home

by thecookiemomma



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-17
Updated: 2010-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-13 17:23:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecookiemomma/pseuds/thecookiemomma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shot. Harry enlightens the Headmaster and the faculty about why he wasn't so safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Home

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at [HPFandom](http://www.hpfandom.net/eff/viewstory.php?sid=38569)

**Disclaimer -- nothing you recognize belongs to me. It's all JKR's, etc.**

Harry woke up in the hospital wing, trying to remember why he felt so horrible. Then, after a few moments, it came back, and with it, a whirling maelstrom of anger. The magic inside him threatened to escape, and he had to work very hard not to start breaking windows. He sat up, grateful for the ease of movement and stalked down the hallway. Heading outside, he let his raw magic, fueled by his anger, disappointment and hurt, funnel into the sky like hurricane. He just hoped nobody was on the pitch right now.

Of course, the swirl and surge of magic drew the attention of most of the teachers. Dimly, Harry remembered that they were the only ones currently here, as it was summertime. He also realized that he wasn't completely healed, and that his back ached. It was a tiny ache in comparison, though, so he moved his body a little, and sat down on the ground, waiting for the inevitable confrontation between himself and his 'minders'.

Severus Snape was the first one to arrive. He watched the swirling cloud for a long moment, saying nothing, only narrowing his eyes at the sight. There was probably some damn prophecy or something that no one thought to tell him. Again. The others hurriedly joined him, led by Poppy Pomphrey who waved her wand in obvious curlicues over his body, checking him out with her non-intrusive diagnostic spells. _Here it comes_ , thought Harry.

“Mister Potter. What in Merlin's name do you think you are doing out here. In this heat! You'll undo every...” She got a glimpse of his face, still wearing the cold, angry mask he'd worn when he stalked out of the room, and she fell silent. The others hadn't seen it, and wondered why she stopped.

“Harry, m'boy –“ That's about as far as Albus Dumbledore got before he, too, took a half-step back and gazed at Harry silently.

“No. If we're going to do this... let's do it. Either here and now, or up in your office old man...” His lips turned up slightly, reminding both of them of the mess he'd made of the place just a couple weeks before.

The other teachers simply stared at his expression, or perhaps at his daring to talk to the most powerful wizard known that way. The Headmaster just nodded. “Here would be most appropriate, I suppose, considering there are fewer valuables nearby.

“That was my thought as well. Why I came out here, too. I mean, I didn't suppose the Matron wanted her precious bottles and windows to all blow apart. Would've been a hell of a mess.” Harry looked down, avoiding any incriminating eyes.

“Indeed, my boy...” The wizened Headmaster waved his hand, and each teacher had a replica of his or her favorite chair. McGonnagall had her straight-backed brown table chair, Snape had his wingback leather chair, Flitwick had an oddly shaped chair that allowed him to see most things but still sit fairly close to the ground, and Pomphrey had a plain soft chair with wooden arms. Albus' own chair was his chintz armchair. Harry'd seen that one before, too. In the trial – best not to think about that, unless they wanted the forest on fire as well as the sky swirling. “So, what's on your mind, young man?”

Harry sighed, unsure of how to put this. “Did any of you receive the letters I sent you?” He looked up to see the answer. There were a couple of nods, and the wind sped up for a while, shrieking around them like an invisible banshee. “Right.” He steeled his expression, and turned to those who had nodded. “And your response?”

His Head of House turned toward him. “I talked to the Headmaster, and he sent someone to come check on you. They said you were fine.”

Harry's eyes turned toward the Headmaster. “You did? Who'd you send?” He watched the man think for a moment, recognizing his need for obfuscation and threw his hands up. “Thought so. Even your damn guard from last year would've noticed something this year. Things _changed._ Drastically. And _not_ for the better.” A few of them sucked in breaths, namely McGonnagall and Pomphrey. He continued. “I wouldn't have troubled Hedwig if it hadn't. She was already...” Unwillingly, his eyes began to tear up, and he lowered his head again to hide it.

“Where is your bird, Potter?” Snape's strident voice cut in.

“Dead.” Harry mumbled into his legs. When Snape asked for him to repeat himself, he looked up, steel mask on, and glared. “Dead. They killed her.”

“Who?” This was the heart of the matter, Harry realized. They had no fucking clue. Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair, reaching a hand toward the young man on the ground in front of him. “Was it Death Eaters?”

This made Harry laugh. “Look. I'll make it easy.” The winds died down, except for one long stream of air. Harry gestured up to it. “Not gonna get expelled for magic use here, am I?”

This was such a non-sequitor that the teachers looked at each other for a moment, before the Headmaster answered him. “No, my boy, the wards are designed for that...” He trailed off as Harry leaped to his feet, pointing his wand at the stream of wind.

“Movie time. Easiest way.” Snape and one of the others, one Harry didn't know except by face, seemed to understand. The rest of them, Merlin bless their little hearts, hadn't a clue.

Harry put his wand to his temple, and before any of the objections of the clueless lot of teachers could reach his ears, he drew out a very long strand of memory. “Remember, Headmaster, you wanted to do this here.” He swirled it in the air, and then violently tossed it toward the wall of air. Then, he turned away from the professors, sat down, and waited for the show to begin.

He'd been thinking about this. Ever since he met Hagrid. He'd started writing things down so that he could remember them. One of the main reasons he hadn't read anything before Hogwarts was because he was too busy using up his Stonewall High notebooks and biros to document everything. There were even a couple of pages with blood on them.

“Don't be surprised when you see more than you've ever seen.” He looked up at Snape meaningfully. “But, yes, on my magic as a wizard, it's all true.” There was a little glow, and the teachers' inhaled breath alerted him to the fact that they knew what he did.

The scenes that played before them started almost the moment Dumbledore and McGonnagall left him on the doorstep. They played through the years, documenting some of the worst experiences, showing the blood, the broken bones, the starvation, the darkness of the cupboard. When it finished, nearly every set of eyes was glistening, if not outright crying. He stood up to drop the bombshell that _hadn't_ been in that set of memories.

“I was okay with that. I mean, it's what I knew.” They looked up at him sharply, questions in their eyes. It was pretty clear what they were thinking. _He considered **that** normal?_ He stopped his prepared diatribe to address their obvious thought. “S'what I knew,” he repeated, shrugging. “The only memories I have of my parents are of the green light and Mum screaming at Voldemort to leave me alone and take her instead.” Some of them knew this, most didn't. “Anyway, that's not what got me fussed.” He shrugged, and pointed up to the screen again. “What got me fussed was that two weeks ago, my Uncle Vernon had a business lunch with none other than Lucius Malfoy.”

The teachers, who had been moving a little, froze in place. “What?” Their outcry was almost comical in its synchronicity.

“Yeah. Kinda what I thought. I mean, thought had occurred to me that the big baddie himself could get in because of the shared blood – ” There were scattered gasps at this, and the Headmaster's eyes widened, lowered, and closed all in the space of an instant. If Harry hadn't been watching them closely, he would have missed the whole progression. “Yeah. Nice, huh?” He shook his head. “Anyway, I was sure Big V himself could have – ”

Snape shifted in his seat, and Harry glanced over at him. “Show him some respect, Potter.” It was weak, spoken more out of habit than anything, so Harry shrugged it off.

“I am, kinda. That's much better than what he's been called a thousand times in my head. Tempering my words to my audience.” He said that, knowing that those not familiar with muggle oral presentations wouldn't quite get it. “As I was saying, though. I figured he could get in, but I didn't figure the Death Eaters could. Then...” He frowned, considering how to phrase his next words. “Then, I remembered your words, Headmaster. Observe.” He drew out a much smaller strand of memory, and threw it up against the wind-wall.

“You must return, Harry. For as long as you can call that place 'Home', you will be protected.” Then, the Headmaster's figure and voice disappeared again. Harry looked all around at his audience. “That sounded quoted from a book, Headmaster, am I correct?”

“Indeed, but I fail to see...” The Headmaster began, but Harry cut him off.

“One thing I've learned from Hermione is that when somebody puts it in a book, they usually do so for a purpose, and since – well, especially the older books – it was such a task to get the information out, they were _very careful_ as to how they worded everything. Every word was important, Headmaster. Every turn of phrase.”

The teachers considered this, Flitwick nodding, as though it were some Ravenclaw secret. “Very true, Mister Potter.” He squeaked, proud of the intelligent observation.

“Yeah, well, Ravenclaw was the third house the Hat thought of for me...” He wasn't going to get into that any more at the moment. “The phrase I'm going to take umbrage with ...” There were a couple soft snorts at this, and Harry grinned. “Yeah. The phrase I'm going to take umbrage with … is the middle one.” Understanding began to dawn, and Harry could almost catalog the level of intuition – or perhaps experience with this sort of thing – into a continuum.

“Which one, Harry?” Albus Dumbledore had an odd expression on his face. His eyes were sad, angry, worried, but they also carried a spark of interest.

“The one you probably pulled directly from the book. 'While you call that place home.'” He stepped back, and crossed his arms against his chest, giving the man time to work it out. Long moments stretched out, and Harry's posture tightened considerably as time went on.

Finally, Snape'd had enough. “For fuck's sake, Albus!” He stood up, vanished his chair, and strode toward his student, ignoring the cries at his language. He pointed toward the wind-wall, which was slowly fading away. “Surely you don't consider _this_ to be home in any sense of the word.” He gazed at his employer, and Harry gazed at him for a moment before following his attention toward the Headmaster.  
“Sir, whatever it was...It was _never_ home.”

With that, he strode off toward the castle, letting the air run free again, leaving most of the teachers stunned, and Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore sitting with tears streaming down his face.


End file.
